


Scar Tissue

by indigenousghost



Series: It Must Be Nice Being Normal [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst and Feels, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Love, Romance, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 10:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigenousghost/pseuds/indigenousghost
Summary: For what it's worth, I love you and I miss you. I know, I know, I know ... too late.





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey okay, so the reason I haven't updated CE is that our house had an electrical problem and almost caught fire!! Wifi will be down for a bit yet, so bear with me. I typed this and posted it from my phone with its cracked ass screen. So ... y'know, I think I deserve a round of applause for that.

**Scar Tissue**

 

The clock turns to 3 am. It taunts me. My eyelids are heavy from lack of sleep, and yet I know it won't come. I don't do mich of that these days. 

 

I roll over to face his perfectly made side of the bed. I haven't touched it, not even a little. I can't. It still smells like him. Whisky and gunpowder and leather and his own sweet musk. I'd like to keep it that way for as long as it will stay. 

 

The room is pitch black, save for the clock. And here, in his bed, I feel so goddamn alone. Even with one of his Henleys on. The knot in my throat and the twist and my gut are starting to seem permanent. 

 

Today (or however long it was because time is odd) was hard. It always is. And it always isn't. I took out another universe. One filled with vile despicable nonhuman creatures. All they wanted was war and death and destruction. Still though, children cried for their parents. Mothers comforted their children, their eyes brimming with despair. Fathers fought to save their families. They couldn't stop me though. No one can. 

 

They were a people. They had minds. They had hearts, however dark. There were families. There was life. And now there just ... isn't. It's like it never was. But I was there. I saw it with my own two eyes. And I razed it. 

 

I watched a civilization fall, the wreckage reflecting in my eyes. And I want to know, when did it get so easy? When did my human heart whither away? But I know the answer to that. 

 

My human heart left with him. Taking words spoken too late and regrets and unsaid promises with it. The worst thing though, I don'g know if I'll ever get it back. 

 

Maybe I'm beyond saving. 

 

A sob claws at my throat. I roll over, pressing my face into the pillow. The last thing I need is for Sam or Jack to come in here. I see the way they look at me. With pity. It makes me hate myself all the more. Whether it's pity over Dean or the haunted look that trails me, I don't know. 

 

Sam in particular has become a painful reminder of what I am, what I've lost, and what I can't do. He looks at me almost reproachfully. Like he knows, what no one else does. What exactly I've done. And I can't stand it.

 

So I avoid him. And when he corners me, I either give him one word answers, or (my specialty) attitude. I know he's sick of my shit. The disappearing acts, the irritability, the sullenness. I just, God Samuel, I need an inch here. Or better yet, a mile. 

 

Jack is just plain worried about me. I can see it on his sweet face everytime he comes to find me. And I feel like he's the only one I can talk to. That's why I offered to take him. To ease his mind. And, well, maybe it's selfish, but I want someone else to see ... to understand. I want  _someone_ to know. 

 

Everyone can see it. The exhaustion. I'm always either looking for Dean or out somewhere in another universe doing unspeakable things. When I'm not doing that, I'm hunting. Saving people. So I can, for once, feel like I'm not hurting, I'm healing. Christ only knows the last time I ate or really slept.

 

And I know what I'm doing is for the greater good, but, God, at what cost? I'm drained. Tired. I'm ready to tap out. But I can't. 

 

Dean ... he would hate what I am now. Despise me. The thought alone is enough to draw another sob careening out. I jam my face into the pillow. 

 

My one little light of hope, is him. Finding him, getting him back, because I can still feel him. He's the only thing I can feel.

 

His broad hands, cupping my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as his ridiculously full lips caress mine. His tongue gently exploring my mouth. The taste of him filling my mouth. His eyes, greener than anything I've ever seen, crinkled at the corners as he laughs at a dumb joke I made. Naked in bed with me, wrapped in the sheets, his anti-posession tattoo stark against his skin. His body, warm and riddled with scars, caving beneath my gentle touches. His voice, that slight twang as he makes some joke. The feeling of him, fully inside me, pinning me to the wall, his mouth attached to my neck as he takes me like it's the last chance he'll ever have. I feel it all.

 

And time, time doesn't work like it used to for me. Days have become weeks and weeks have become seconds. The Void has no concept of time. There is only it and I. So who knows how long I've been like this really. Who knows how long he's been gone. It feels like an eternity.

 

The sobs are hard enough to wreck my body, my hands and legs shaking. I jam my face into the pillow to muffle the sound. The pillow is damp, the saline smell heavy in my nose. 

 

That's it. That's all I have to hold onto. Dean. Maybe if he comes back, the broken twisted insides of me will start to heal. Maybe I'll start to feel something. Because right now, I don't feel a goddamn thing. And it fucking scares me.

 

 _"I love you_ ," I whisper to an empty side of the bed. Those damn words that haunt me because I was too late.

 

If I had been there, maybe I could have stopped it. Contained Michael somehow. I wasn't. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

 

Maybe I'm cursed. Broken and cursed. Seems about right for me. I am, and I cannot stress this enough, fucking done. Dead would be a better option. But I don't have that luxury.

 

I take a breath, and pull the pillow from my face. There is still so much for me to do. And if I can't sleep, why waste time crying in bed. Feeling sorry for myself. I'd say I'm better than that, but am I? Am I really?

 

As quickly as they came, my feelings fade and I drift back into the misty gray land of numbness. A nice comfortable spot where I've made a nice little bowl of popcorn to sit back and watch the shitshow. All with low low price of never feeling a thing. 

 

Slowly, I get out of bed and start throwing clothes on. I've lost weight. I can see the ribs under my mortal skin. I yank on a pair of too loose skinny jeans and tuck Dean's Henley into it. I pull on my boots and double knot them. Finally, I throw on my jacket. 

 

Softly, I creep out of my room, going to the garage. When I start my bike up, the rolling rumble soothes my frayed edges. I try not to stare at the Impala.

 

"And where are you going?" Sam's voice has me snapping around.

 

He's wearing pajamas, a t-shirt and loose Adidas pants hanging from him. His eyes are dark circled and a frown is etched on his mouth. His arms are folded over his chest.

 

"Out," I say.

 

"Elvira ..." his tone is all warning. 

 

"I have shit to do," I say without inflection.

 

He just shakes his head and turns around. The padding sound of his footsteps echoes after him. 

 

I pull on my helmet and straddle the bike. Within seconds, I'm tearing out of the garage and down the dirt road ... away. Looking for him. Listening to the universe, for any whisper, of where he might be. I'd take anything, anything at all.

 

I know that we'll both have scar tissue by the end of this. Things we can't unsee, things we can't really talk about. But I know we'll be together. And with him, with him I'll share this lonely view.

 

****

 

(Dean)

 

I throw my hands against the mental walls. I'm trapped in my own body. I can't take a piss when I want to. But I won't give up. Not while I have so many people, a home, waiting for me. Lives that I have to save.

 

When he does something horrible, and that's most of the time, I see her smile. And I can almost hear her. She tells me it's going to be okay. Nothing else. And God, I wish I could hold her. 

 

I'll fight for the rest of my life if I have to. Kicking and screaming. Her name. Sammy's name. Jack.  Mom. Cas. Bobby. Charlie.  Hell, even Rowena and Ketch. Everyone I am holding on like hell for. 

 

I know he can feel it to. Sometimes I'll even get to twitch my own hand because of it. 

 

It's Elvira though, who throws him the most for a loop. Because I need her. More than I ever realized or admitted. I need her. 

 

When I scream her name, raking my fingers down those walls, he flinches and just for a second, a split second I'll be in control. When I think of her, on top of me, one hand on my chest, the other on the wall, riding me, he stops dead. And I can feel him squirm. She terrifies him. And she should. The woman is a hellion. A storm with a body. And she calls out my name. Her eyes, with that molten silver circle, burning.

 

Despite the measures he has taken against her, she makes him shit himself. My own little goddess. Quite literally I might add.

 

I will never stop fighting. And she will never stop looking. She will come. And when she does, God help Michael because she'll eat him alive. 

I may be trapped, but she's not. I slam myself into the wall. It shutters. She's not. And she's coming for you. I throw myself into the wall. 

Suddenly, I can see through my own eyes. I can take a breath. I take a step. Michael thrashes and the wall slams down again. But I don't stop.

 

_Ya hear me Michael!? She's coming for you!_

 

I'll never let go. 


End file.
